A Sweetheart for the Single Dad

Chapter One

You’re a Camden. Shall I guess which one?

It was late on Monday afternoon, the last day of August, when Lindie Camden went into the recreation room of the Wheatley Community Center and someone stepped up behind her to speak those words.

The voice was male, deep and rich. The tone was slightly confrontational, slightly facetious, and so low that no one else was likely to hear despite the fact that there were a number of other adults and children all around.

Lindie wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad that she’d been sort of recognized. She was on a mission today from her grandmother to connect with Sawyer Huffman and attempt to take the thorn out of the lion’s paw once and for all.

She’d tried calling to request an appointment to see him. But she’d been informed that Sawyer Huffman was not interested in hearing anything a Camden might have to say.

Undeterred, at lunch she’d gone home to change into her tightest pencil skirt, a sleeveless silk top with a cowl neck that flowed with some intriguing folds in front, and a pair of four-inch, come-and-get-it spiked heels.

She’d left her long, espresso-brown hair to fall loosely to the middle of her back the way she would wear it to go clubbing. She’d applied shadow, liner and mascara to her cerulean-blue eyes. She’d dusted her cheeks and her thin nose with a hint more color. Then she’d added her favorite rose-hued lipstick to lips that were naturally full. All to present herself at the offices of Huffman Consulting and hopefully lure him into meeting with her, appointment or not.

That scheme had at least gained her information from a young male intern that Sawyer Huffman had left for the day to volunteer at the community center in Wheatley, a suburb about twenty minutes outside Denver.

The intractably determined Lindie had come straight here and told the person at the front desk only that she was looking for Sawyer Huffman. She’d been informed that he could be found in the recreation room at the chess tables.

It was the chess tables she was looking for when the near-whisper had come from behind.

Lindie turned to face tall, not-too-dark but very, very handsome Sawyer Huffman himself.

The arch nemesis of Camden Superstores.

And the son of a man who had been a victim of some underhanded actions on the part of the previous generation’s Camdens.

As one of Camden Incorporated’s most outspoken opponents, Lindie had seen Sawyer Huffman’s picture in newspapers and magazines; she’d seen him interviewed and in news reports on television. It had been obvious that he was attractive.

But he was a lot more impressive in person.

Standing six-foot-three, he was a big guy all the way around. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat behind the suit pants and dress shirt he was wearing. He had a broad chest and shoulders, thick forearms showing from beneath sleeves rolled to his elbows, and massive hands that grasped muscular arms he crossed over his flat middle.

He was kind of daunting even though she didn’t see any anger or resentment on his gorgeous face. He had light brown hair that he wore short on the sides and only a bit longer and carelessly kept on top. His finely angular features included just-high-enough cheekbones, a sharp jawline and a nose with just enough of a ridge in the bridge to give him a roguish air.

His lower lip was fuller than his upper and there were the sexiest little parentheses at their corners, drawn there at that moment by his questioning Cheshire-cat smile. He also had a slightly crooked crease in the center of his square-ish chin and amazing crystal-blue eyes. Eyes filled with curiosity now as he gazed down at her, waiting for her response.

I’m Lindie, she said simply.

I figured. A phone call this morning asking to meet with me and now you’ve tracked me down here? Are you the family assassin? he asked, the thought seeming to amuse him.

Not today. I left all my weapons at home was Lindie’s comeback.

Her clothing choice wasn’t lost on him because his glance dropped for a split second before he said, I’m not so sure about that.

Then the tone that had held a mingling of admiration and suspicion became more businesslike. I came here to run a chess tournament for these kids, so I don’t know what you’re up to but—

"I’m not up to anything. I’m representing my family’s company. We’d like to improve relations with you and to hire you. But since you wouldn’t see me at your office—"

"Improve relations with me? Hire me? he repeated as if she were out of her mind. Neither of those things is ever going happen, Ms. Camden. It’s my job to be your adversary. A job I created and have no intention of changing."

Lindie. I’m just Lindie, she corrected.

"It’s my job to be your adversary, Lindie," he reiterated as if she might understand it better that way.

Huffman Consulting represented several of Camden Superstores’ competitors—major grocery store, home improvement and department store chains. Every time an area was targeted as the site for a new Camden Superstore, Huffman Consulting went to work to present the downside on behalf of their clients in an effort to raise community support to keep out the superstore.

Through pamphlets, phone calls, news reports, petition drives, websites and contact with big and small local businesses and homeowners, Huffman Consulting spread the word that the arrival of a Camden Superstore lowered property values, drove out small businesses, increased traffic congestion and police calls, and caused any number of other evils.

The campaigns often either kept the Camdens from opening a store at all, or caused lengthy, expensive delays while the company’s PR team worked to combat the campaign and win over the communities.

"If Camden Incorporated became one of your clients it would be your job to represent our interests, as well," Lindie said reasonably.

You want me in bed with the enemy, he countered.

Ooh. That put a saucy image in her head that came out of nowhere and shouldn’t have been there!

Lindie shoved it away and reminded herself that this was solely about business.

"What we want is not to be your enemy, she said. It’s only recently come to our attention that some...questionable things were done years ago to your family. We understand that that’s probably left you thinking badly of us and wanting to get even. But we’d like to clear the air and compensate you by way of our business—always worth a substantial amount of money."

What is this? The Camdens’ own twelve-step program? Are you on the admit-wrongdoing-and-make-amends part?

In truth the Camdens were trying to make amends to people who had been wronged by Lindie’s predecessors. But they also didn’t want that widely known and inspiring false allegations.

So Lindie ignored the questions and said, "Give me a chance. Get to know me and Camden Incorporated through me. Let me get to know you and where you’re really coming from. Then maybe we can find common ground and work together."

"This is where I’m really coming from, he said with a gesture around the community center. Areas like this eastern side of Wheatley that are left behind when a Camden Superstore comes to town. When jobs are lost and businesses close and buildings go vacant. When resources are drained away to the more prosperous parts of town. When parents have to take jobs farther away from home so their commute is longer and more time is taken away from their kids. Kids who are ultimately left with less supervision, leading them to get into trouble. Kids who need somewhere to go that isn’t an empty house or apartment."

Okay, the man didn’t pull any punches. But Lindie could take them.

Before she’d thought of something diplomatic to say he added, "You want to get to know what I’m after? Pitch in here. Volunteer. Learn firsthand what the Camdens leave in their dust. Make some real amends to people you’ve done harm to right now."

It was a dare. A dare he clearly thought Lindie wouldn’t accept.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. Jumping in to help was her middle name. Sometimes to her own detriment.

But her goal today was strictly to connect with him. To get some time with him. That was the only hope she had of turning him from an enemy to an ally.

So rather than immediately accepting his challenge, she wanted to make sure it would get her what she needed.

Do you ‘pitch in’ here? Volunteer—beyond your chess tournament today? she asked.

I have connections to Wheatley and this community center happens to be my pet project, so, yes, I volunteer here.

What kind of connections? Do you live in Wheatley?

I live in a loft in lower downtown Denver. But my son lives here.

You have a son? she said, hoping to build some rapport even as she took particular note of that fact for her own personal reasons. The fact that he had a child helped put him all the more securely in the wouldn’t-date-him compartment and she thought that that should help her concentrate on the work at hand.

I do have a son, he answered. Sam. He lives in Wheatley with his mother and her new husband. For now.

He seemed compelled to add that last part, though it was under his breath. Unsure how to reply, she merely said, You’re divorced?

As a matter of fact I am. But not from Sam’s mom. She and I were never married.

Divorced, with a child with a woman from a different relationship. The man seemed to have quite a history.

Does your son use the community center? she asked.

He’s four and in the preschool program here. But the center is also important because if the older kids have a place they want to spend time, it keeps them off the streets and out of trouble. Ultimately that makes things safer and better for Sam. Plus, there’s the park the center just acquired next door—he’ll like that when it’s in shape.

So other than the chess tournament, what do you do as a volunteer here? she persisted.